In The Stressed Silence Between
by SaltwaterGarden
Summary: It's July 1981. Things are sort of falling apart. Remus is involved in the Order and working on the side at a werewolf health clinic, struggling to understand the burgeoning HIV epidemic which is emerging in the werewolf community but which doesn't yet have a name. At least he has a date tonight. Trans! Remus


Remus was trying to avoid drinking coffee in the mornings. It made his breath smell and it dehydrated him, and in any case it wasn't as if it tasted especially good. But the tea kettle had a metal handle and he always burned his fingers on it, and the coffee pot was so easy to use, so on Tuesday morning he ended up having coffee. He waited for his toast to pop up and stood throwing stale graham crackers onto the fire escape for the pigeons. They seemed more interested in the crackers than they had in the bagel crumbs last week. The fog over the houses caught the morning sunlight oddly; the metal slats of the fire escape were cold on Remus's feet. He looked out over London—the city was vast and unfriendly, but at least he could see televisions blaring in the apartments across the street. He was not alone in the world, anyway.

As Remus buttered his toast, Angie came in, yawning. She was wearing a pair of teal pyjama bottoms and a fuzzy old gray flannel shirt unbuttoned to her waist. She threw a paper on the table.

"It's the New York Times," she said. "It's got a story about KS in it. The first a big Muggle paper's done. Janey picked it up yesterday before the rally. I guess it's finally starting to really affect Muggles."

"I heard you and Janick come in last night. I guess she must be sleeping still. How late were you out?"

"About two. The rally was still going on—I think the Goblin Defense Regiment stayed until daylight, I think- but we wanted to get home. Jane's working two jobs and needs her sleep." Angie moved to the pantry and pulled out a bag of oatmeal. "What'd you do? Did you finally get the nerve to go out with the guy you met last month at the Werewolf Rights sit-in?" She yawned over the last few words and pulled one of her socks up.

Remus looked up from the paper. "Angie, I told you, we went out last week and I have another date today here."

"What? Why didn't you tell me? Did you get laid? Are you going to get laid?"

"Merlin, Angie."

"Well, you know, it's a fair question. It'd be your first in months and months."

"It's better to be cautious. Especially with this kind of shit-" Remus shook the edge of the paper, "-going around. Anyway, we haven't gotten around to it yet, but he's definitely interested. I just have to have the talk with him."

"Which talk, the 'I don't have a penis' talk or the 'I'm not just progressive, I'm actually a werewolf, no really' talk or the 'I am emotionally stunted and really invested in fighting Voldemort so you'd better be okay with me maybe dying like four times a week' talk, or what?"

"The first one. He's a werewolf too and he apparently likes dumbass self-sacrificing Gryffindor types, so the others aren't a problem. It shouldn't go too badly. At least if I'm right about him. He seems nice."

"What's his name?"

"Brian Manhas. I'm almost certain you two did a panel together once about human-magical being social interaction and intersection just after I met you in '79. He's older than me."

Angie squinted at the ceiling. "Is he Indian?"

"His parents are, I think—or anyway Manhas is an Indian name, so, you know, probably. He went to Hogwarts until he got bitten in fifth year. He works with the Werewolf Housing Commission. He writes grant applications and does publicity. He's got kind of a beard. A cute chubby belly. Glasses."

"Well, at least we know he can feed you, then." Angie stirred the oatmeal on the stove. "It sounds like you've already talked a lot with him loverboy. You went dancing?"

"Yeah. And talked."

Angie nodded. They were silent for a moment, and Remus read the story in the New York Times. It was nothing he didn't know already, and this disappointed him. He knew he shouldn't rely on the Muggle press for answers, but he wanted answers. Everyone knew something was happening. Only so many people can die before someone starts noticing a pattern. KS, or whatever-it-was, hadn't yet started affecting gay Muggles in Britain in the way it seemed to be doing in the United States, but that was just Muggles. In the last six months, Remus knew of three werewolves, friends-of-friends, who had seen dark purple spots appear on their arms, or back, or hands or face, and who suddenly took ill with rashes and infections that didn't go away. One of them had made it to St. Mungo's, where Healers had so far managed to keep him alive on a variety of potions; the other two, who distrusted Healers, were dead. Nobody knew what it was, but it was clearly the same thing as in the cruising scenes in New York. Remus and other queer werewolves hadn't taken long to make that connection, at least. Something large and terrifying was happening. There were stories of hundreds of werewolves dead in the States, plus or including dozens of gay men. Nobody knew what it was.

Sirius called and wanted to know if Remus would be at the Order meeting. Remus said he would be and asked if James would be there. Of course he would, Sirius said, but don't talk so loudly.

"Christ, Sirius, they don't have bugs in our houses."

"You never know. Who did you say was living with you? A goblin? Goblins aren't so trustworthy."

"Her name is Janick, yes, she's dating Angie, and I can't believe you just said that, Sirius," Remus said.

"They've stayed neutral. I know she goes to rallies with you and you're all chummy, but they're rallies for Being Rights, not rallies for No Death Eaters. Who know which way goblins will turn if You-Know-Who seems like he's going to keep his promises to them?"

"Promises to let them have wands and lift the ban on goblins holding jobs outside of Gringotts and goblin service markets, you mean—ones that offer social mobility and status and _the right to speak their language_? Oh no, what if You-Know-Who promises to let them have the rights back that wizards took from them? How awful it would be for them to want that!"

"Okay, Remus. Okay. Merlin, I'm sorry."

"I'm just saying, maybe if the Ministry pulled its thumbs out of its ass long enough to think about policy at all beyond "hunt down anyone wearing a frightening mask", it would realize that rather than scrutinizing and alienating Being communities further it'd do well to get us on their side. By maybe offering us the opportunity to survive."

"I just don't trust goblins, Remus, is it so silly that you take a few precautionary measures?"

"People don't think werewolves are all that trustworthy either."

There was a long silence and a sigh on the other end.

"I haven't seen Peter or you in weeks," Remus said. "I'm looking forward to the meeting. Maybe we could go out for drinks afterward? I found a Muggle bar-"

"Maybe," Sirius said, with a nonchalant lack of commitment. Remus knew they wouldn't be going out.

"How's Peter doing, anyway?" he asked.

"Haven't got a clue. Until a few weeks ago he'd used to come round for tea and gin. I'd act like I gave a shit about whatever tiny mission the Order had him doing—Dumbledore had him interview someone's old house elf once-it was all bullshit to keep him busy. He's not been around lately."

"I worry about him. Someone's going to finish him off," Remus said, deciding to ignore the fact that Sirius had used the possessive form when talking about an elf.

"Yeah, well, none of us seem long for this world, really. Unless You-Know-Who really does give werewolves positions of power in the new order, then maybe you could jump ship at the last minute and still make it out alive."

Remus could have made that into another reason to get angry, but he didn't. Sirius was his friend. "I wouldn't do that. None of us would. It'd insult anyone's dignity."

"Fear does weird things to dignity. I know I've considered more than once whether or not I should have asked the hat to put me in Slytherin with my brother. Then maybe I'd be on the winning side of all this."

"Isn't your brother dead?"

"Yeah, well."

They were silent.

"I miss him," Remus said. "I wish I could get word to him that didn't have to go through Dumbledore and who knows who else."

"I miss him too," Sirius said.

No you don't, Remus thought. You're the Secret-Keeper. You can see him any time you like. But he said nothing. "How have you been making money?" he asked instead.

"Illegal acquisition and conversion, mostly," Sirius said. "It's so weird to get money in the Muggle world. I feel like a kid sneaking out the back door at midnight to go to a party. It's startlingly easy to make money off Muggles in pubs if you play your cards right. They still haven't figured out my cup trick. I made a thousand pounds in one night a week ago. I take it to the bank and get it changed, if I need something magical. "

"Haven't figured out how to change sugar packets into pound notes yet, then?"

"They change back after twenty minutes for me. Feels disingenuous, it should at least last a week or so. Enough to get it to their Muggle bank."

"I never do it except for food," Remus said.

"I'm not exactly living the high life," Sirius replied.

"Except for motorcycles."

"It's—well, okay," Sirius conceded. "But that was my parents' money, I was happy to blow it on that sort of thing."

Sirius left because he thought someone was at the door, he said. Remus suspected he really just wanted to end the conversation. Remus missed the days when they would do missions together, but it seemed like those days were over. With Voldemort after James and Peter probably depressed and Sirius taking on one dangerous mission after another, practically trying to get killed, it was a wonder they ever saw one another at all.

At the clinic everyone wanted to know about the symptoms of KS. A lot of them had been following the news like Remus had been and had read the article in the New York Times. The Daily Prophet hadn't done any stories about it yet, so the ones who were worried were mostly Muggle-born and half-blood werewolves. Many knew of someone, or had heard of someone, Muggle gay or werewolf, who had gotten it and been dead within a week, or three days, or ten hours. It was almost a relief when someone came in who just wanted to be tested for gonorrhea. A woman came in with a few moles on her arm she was worried about, but thankfully they were green instead of red-purple and were decidedly not anything like Kaposi's Sarcoma. After some hysterical wailing the woman was convinced it was only a reaction to the dragon pox vaccine she'd received a few weeks ago.

At seven, Remus left for his date.

Brian and Remus had met for the first time at the Werewolf Rights Rally in London in December 1980. Remus had been helping out at the W.H.C booth, advertising the Werewolf Health Collective's new free weekly STI testing, and Brian had come over and talked with Remus about the ways the Ministry was twice failing werewolves—in not adequately protecting werewolf communities from crime and illness, and in then over-policing them and locking them up and over-regulating their every move-and on top of that, placing limits on their employment and social mobility. Remus agreed with a lot of Brian's points—many of the things Brian said were things that Remus felt but had never been able to articulate. Brian spoke very intensely. Remus ignored the passers-by for a while as they talked. Brian had curly black hair and small, gold-framed glasses with round frames. Significant eye contact had been made as Brian said good-bye, but it had still taken Remus six months to hold a conversation with Brian long enough to ask him on a date.

Brian had suggested going out to dinner somewhere, which surprised Remus, because none of the werewolves he knew had paying jobs and it was clear from the way Brian talked that he didn't just mean turning sugar packets into pound notes.

"Can you afford it? Because I can't," Remus said.

"Well, sure," Brian said. But Remus felt guilty, so they agreed to order pizza at Remus's apartment instead. Janick and Angie were out at a party, so it worked out.

They sat on the couch together and ate pizza and made conversation. Brian talked about identity—his Somali mother and Punjabi father, his youth in a half-magical home. He'd gone to a school in the East End for a few years before Hogwarts, and gotten a Muggle diploma when he got expelled—not by magic, either, by studying. His mother had insisted.

"It wasn't always too bad," he said. "I ended up knowing a lot more about math than everyone else, and that's served me pretty well when I've had to con someone out of spare change—or excuse me, I mean, organize rallies and pay taxes. I'm an upstanding citizen."

Remus laughed about that. "Are there any classes at Hogwarts that teach maths at _all_? I don't remember anything-"

They talked about how both of them had come out—or hadn't, in Remus's case, at least in terms of what Brian was talking about.

"I wouldn't have been brave enough to talk to my dad about it."

"That's fair enough. I mean, plenty of the men you see in bars would never tell their daddies. All sorts of people in different kinds of closets." Brian himself had come out to his father on his seventeenth birthday, just before leaving the house.

"I mean, my father's just a jerk." Remus didn't want to get into the abuse. Once you started talking it was hard to stop, and really, what a mood-killer.

The night went on, the noise of people outside gradually shifting into the sound of distant booming discotheques. Brian talked about his rejection of his parents' religions and subsequent failure to find any replacement. Remus listened patiently. He interjected with his own experiences where he felt it was appropriate. They eventually got around to lycanthropy and the fact they never expected to have a decent or stable job. And-

"-god, the pain the next morning, turning back," Remus laughed. "Nobody who hasn't been there-"

"-Could possibly understand," Brian agreed. "I've watched people get Crucio and you know, god damn if I didn't have to just raise my eyebrows and say well, honey, now you know what it's_ like_."

They talked for a while on the parallels between magical and nonmagical oppression, though by this point all the words were fading a little as Remus became increasingly lost in the flash of Brian's teeth and the curve of his wrists and the bright blackness in the middle of his eyes.

"What it is," Brian said at one point, breaking through the haze of Remus's adolescent lust, "is that the things don't exist separately. You aren't ever going to be black over here, gay over there. They stack up. It's why you can't compare oppressions." He started talking about Audre Lorde, who Remus had heard of but hadn't ever read.

Remus could only think about this overlapping within the framework of his transsexuality and queerness; Brian had a much deeper grasp of the interconnections. He wasn't sure when to bring up gender identity and his transition. Part of him wondered if Brian might already know, but he didn't want to risk it. He liked talking about Hogwarts with Brian; Brian had gone there a few years before Remus had and remembered a lot of the same people Remus had known, such as Lucius Malfoy. Brian had known Lucius as a first-year, which made Remus—who had only ever known him as a terrifying prefect and teacher's assistant- laugh. When Brian talked about having to leave Hogwarts after being bitten, Remus realized that Brian's case must have been one of the things that was fresh in Dumbledore's mind when he decided to allow Remus into the school. Because of all the discussion of oppression, Remus found himself wondering if he would have been let in if he wasn't white or if he didn't have a British father with a lot of ties to the Ministry. He mentioned this to Brian, who imagined it was possible.

"We forget that Dumbledore and his generation were literally born in the Victorian period," Brian said. "I mean, I hate to use the argument that it's all about the old people clinging to old traditions and holding progress back, but in the Wizarding world we live about fifty percent longer than Muggles. And the old people hold power until they die, really."

"That's probably why it's taking anyone in the Wizarding world to take electricity seriously," Remus said.

"There's lots of places in the world that get along just fine without electricity," Brian replied. "But I do think you're right."

They listened to some records. Brian didn't really like The Doors.

When they were getting ice cream from the freezer—Remus would have to make amends to Janick for eating the last of it tomorrow- and Brian's hand rested for a moment on Remus's waist, he decided it was time to have the conversation. He waited until they were both sitting down, in case it got dramatic.

"So," he started. "I may be wrong and getting ideas, but I think I'm right about the direction this date is going."

"If that direction is _good_, then yeah, I think so," Brian said, slightly nervously He sat down at the tiny kitchen table and Remus sat across from him.

"Yes, don't worry, that's absolutely what I meant." Remus patted Brian's hand, a queeny, motherly gesture he'd gotten into the habit of doing lately.

"Good," Brian said. "That's good. I'm really attracted to you."

"You'll understand why I want to have a conversation about what the rest of tonight is going to be like, then," Remus said.

"Sure." Brian put a spoon of coffee ice cream in his mouth and his tongue looked amazing. Remus was distracted for a moment.

"The thing is, Brian, I think I should inform you I don't have exactly what you'd expect...down there, so to speak. I'm transsexual."

Brian had not been expecting this. His eyes went wide.

"I'm sorry," Remus said. He always jumped into an apology first thing. "I should have told you sooner."

Brian shook his head. "I'm...easygoing. I just—I have to be honest with you, I don't know what that means."

"I know. Not many people really do know, particularly wizards. It means I don't identify as the gender I was assigned at birth, and I've changed my body to better match...my head."

"I know Muggles have those surgeries, for queens—or I guess women-you know, like Christine Jorgensen and April Ashley. But you're not a woman, and you're not a Muggle."

"That's true," Remus laughed, feeling his hands shaking. He decided not to try to eat until they stopped. That would be embarrassing. "There's no approved medical or magical operation wizards use, at least not yet. I sort of made things up. I self-transfigured when I was thirteen, and last year Angie helped me figure out a regular potion to balance hormone levels and things. It's all pretty experimental and do-it-yourself."

"It must have been terrible to go through school with all that to worry about on top of lycanthropy," Brian said.

"It was a time."

"I can't imagine."

"It wasn't so much worse than anything you've been through, really. Just with more medical emergencies. I came out of it all right. It's not like there are any transsexual werewolf support groups that I've found, though. The closest I've found was a weekly meditation class that had three gender-switching Metamorphagi in it." Remus realized he was babbling and stopped.

"So, uh, what do you have down there?" The question was predictable but in this case, anyway, at least it was semi-relevant to the situation.

"We-ell," Remus said, "You can see for yourself, if you want."

So they took a bath. Remus had lavender bath salts, which he could have pretended belonged to Angie, but Brian seemed to like his queeniness.

"It reminds me of fourth year when I snuck into the prefects' bathroom," he said.

"Tell me that story sometime," Remus laughed. As he bent over the taps he felt Brian staring at his ass.

"So many queers think they have to be so tough to prove they're still men," he said. "It's okay to feel nice and smell nice things."

"I bet you don't have perfumed bath salts, though," Remus said.

"No, I don't, but I can always use your tub."

The water was sweet-smelling and hot.


End file.
